Powers (15 page)

Gwen puts down her camera, reaches for her cell phone.

Her attention on dialing, she doesn't see the arsonist cross the room, yank open the door.

He grabs her, drags her inside.

Gwen stops walking. Turns to look back at me.

Midnight. Tomorrow. Don't be late,
she sends to me.

“How do you know?” I say.

I checked the weather. It's going to snow tonight. Tomorrow is clear. Moonset is at midnight.

That's how she knows. The moon was setting in her vision. Then I realize something. If she's that sure about the time and place, we can call the police.

“I'm calling the police!” I yell.

I thought of that. It won't work. They'll scare him off. He'll just strike later.

“They'll put the house under surveillance, Gwen. He won't have a chance to strike.”

Will they keep the house under surveillance forever, Adrian? For years? Sooner or later, he'll burn it down. What must happen will happen.

“I'm not going!” I shout.

Only, we both know I will.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 7

Adrian

I leave an hour early. Here's my plan. Be there when the arsonist arrives. Use
the voice
to subdue him. Make an anonymous call to the police. Go home.

I won't get hurt and Gwen won't get her story. Works for me.

I park a few hundred yards down the highway, on the shoulder. I should be able to see the arsonist drive by. He'll park in the lane, fifty feet from the house. Gwen's vision showed that.

I open my thermos and pour some coffee. I light up a cigarette and wait. A moment later, I butt it out frantically. A car is coming. I hunch down in the seat, hoping he didn't see the glow of my cigarette.

I touch his mind. I'm safe.

My boots squeak in the snow as I walk down the highway. I hope he can't hear me. I tap into his thoughts.

The last one on my list. Foster parents. They pretend to care, but the first thing you do wrong and
whammo
you're out of there. Payback time!

So that's his motive. Revenge. Sick reasoning. If I can't have a home, why should they? But I guess you have to be sick to torch a house, especially if there might be people inside.

The lane leading to the house is lined with evergreens. I slip between the shadows, welcoming their protection. I pass the guy's car and memorize the license plate.

As I get closer, I see him. He walks around to the back of the house, checking windows as he goes. He's carrying a gas can and a shopping bag. I see newspapers and a few chunks of wood sticking up from it. Kindling. He reaches the back door, puts his hand on the handle.

I step out of the darkness into a pale wash of moonlight.

“Back off from that door,” I order, using
the voice.

He whirls around, startled, to face me.

“What the—?”

“Put down the gasoline,” I say.

He gives a half-laugh. “Hey, man, can you believe it? Locked out of my own house. Stupid, eh?”

“You can't lie to me,” I say, walking toward him. “Back off.”

“You aren't a part of this,” he says, not laughing this time. “Go away and forget what you saw, okay?”

“How many others?” I demand.

He wavers, then says, “Two here. Two last winter, up in Blue Lake. I'm done now. So don't complicate things.”

I'm surprised he tells me that. But I remember what Gwen wrote in her article about arson. When caught, the arsonist usually confesses readily. He may even be proud of his track record.

I put all the authority of The Power into my voice. “I'm ordering you to stand down.
Now.
”

“Whatever you say, man.” He walks toward me, sets down the gasoline, sets down the bag.

I grab my phone and start to dial the police.
The voice
never fails.

But then I catch his thoughts. He's grabbing a piece of wood from the bag.

And I am too slow to stop him.

Gwen

All day, the visions shifted around me in a kaleidoscope of possibilities. What was real? I couldn't tell.

I planned to leave at eleven thirty, to give myself time to meet Adrian at midnight. But at eleven, a vision hit me with hurricane force.

Adrian confronts a man who is carrying a gas can and a bag of kindling. He uses his voice of command, but it doesn't work. The arsonist swings a piece of wood at Adrian, catching him in the head.

Adrian drops to the snow. He's not moving.

My Mom was in bed. I wondered if I should leave a note. No, I decided. With a bit of luck, she'd never know I was gone.

I found Adrian's car parked on the highway. How long had he been here? Five minutes? An hour? The moon was setting, throwing dark shadows between the trees.

I ran up the middle of the lane, not worried about meeting the arsonist. If my vision was correct, he was already gone. I reached the house. Black smoke billowed out of the upper story. Red flames shot out of a window.

By the fiery glow, I saw Adrian push himself to a sitting position.

“Are you okay?” I asked, dropping to my knees beside him. I took a closer look at him. No blood, not that I could see.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the side of his head. “I'll live.”

Two people, a man and a woman, burst out of the back door of the house, each carrying a child. They sank to the snowy ground, coughing.

“There's one left,” said Adrian, standing up. He wavered, as if he hadn't quite got his balance back.

He ran into the house.

Adrian

I must be crazy. I'm running into a burning building. I have no idea why.

Yeah, I do. To prove to Gwen I'm one of the good guys.

My head pounds with every step. I'm dizzy from the blow to my head. Heat and smoke batter me, nearly force me back. The family room is engulfed in flame—the couch, the bookcase, the walls.

Gwen's mental voice reaches me.
Stairs on the left. Bedrooms upstairs.

I rush up the stairs. Flames lick up the wall. The carpet smolders beneath my boots.

I crawl along the hallway, staying low. I can feel a child in the second bedroom. I find her huddled on the floor, grab her, head for the stairs.

No!
Gwen sees me carrying a child, the stairs collapsing and a wall falling on top of us.
The window. Go out the window.

The window? I can't see any window. The smoke is too thick. I crawl along the floor, coughing, choking. I find a wall. Reach up. Find the window. I push it open, burning my hands. The fire roars toward me, flaming out into the night. I fumble with the screen, find the release, and send it toppling to the ground below.

The child clings to my neck in a stranglehold. I loosen her grip, and drop her through the open window. Gwen is waiting below.

Gwen catches her, gets knocked over, rolls in the snow. But she's okay. They're both okay.

I climb out backwards, hang for a second, and let go.

*   *   *

It gets a bit confused after that. My hands hurt. My lungs hurt. I hear sirens.

“Let's go,” I say to Gwen.

“You go. Get to the hospital. You could have a concussion,” she says. “I'm staying. There's a story here.”

“And how will you explain to the police that you just
happened
to be here?” I ask.

“I'll make something up,” she says.

“Go home, Gwen. You've done enough damage for one night.”

I feel the hurt in her mind, but I'm past caring. I'm sick of being her puppet.

The parents reach us. The father takes the child from Gwen's arms. He coughs to clear his lungs, says, “Thank you. Who are you?”

“No one was here,” I say, using
the voice.

“But,” Gwen says.

“No buts. No heroes. No story,” I say.

She glares at me as if she wants to hurl an energy ball at me. “Okay, fine, have it your way,” she huffs at me.

“It's about time,” I mutter.

I turn to the couple and use
the voice.
This time I feel Gwen's energy join mine, magnifying my power.

“You saved all your children,” I say, slowly and distinctly. “You and your wife. She's a brave woman.”

“A brave woman, my wife,” says the man, with considerable feeling.

“Hope you're happy,” Gwen says, as we walk back to our cars.

“Ecstatic,” I assure her.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 8

Gwen

Last night, I had a dream.

Adrian loads the trunk of his car with boxes, throws a duffle bag into the backseat. I stand in the driveway, watching.

A glowing silver cord connects us. The Power flows through it, from him to me and back to him. His aura flames blue.

He gets into the car, drives away. The cord stretches, growing faint, turns pencil thin. Finally, it breaks.

I awoke, soaked in cold, slippery sweat.

*   *   *

I borrowed Mom's car to drive over at around noon. He met me at the front door.

I almost didn't recognize him. Under his dark-rimmed glasses, his eyes were light gray, the color of the sky just before sunrise. They were cool, but not as mesmerizing as his unnaturally blue contacts.

“That was the whole point,” he said, clearly reading my mind. He stood squarely in the doorway, dressed in a dark blue T-shirt and jeans. The palms of his hands were wrapped in gauze, leaving his fingertips exposed. I felt a stab of guilt at that.

“May I come in?”

He shrugged, turned, and went down the stairs.

“I guess that's a
yes,
” I said, under my breath.

“Where are your parents?” I called down to him, as I removed my hat and gloves.

“Gone.”

“When are they coming back?” Got out of my coat, hung it on the hook on the wall.

“Later.”

“Did you tell them about last night?” Took off my boots.

“No. They left before I came out of my room.”

“Are you going to tell them?” Walked downstairs.

“Don't know.”

I reached his room. An open suitcase sat on his bed.

“What are you doing?” I asked, watching him take a pile of jeans from his wardrobe and place them in the suitcase.

“Should be obvious,” he replied.

“Where?”

“To live with my brother in Milwaukee. I figure fifteen hours away might just be far enough.”

“Can we talk?” I asked.

“Isn't that what we're doing?” He placed several T-shirts on top of the jeans.

“Please?” I moved the suitcase. “Sit down?”

“You're begging?”

“Yes.” I said, patting the bed.

“I'm more comfortable over here,” he said, sitting down in the chair at his computer desk. He started to fold his arms, grimaced, rested his bandaged hands awkwardly on his knees.

“You should see a doctor,” I said.

“Already did.”

“What'd he say?”

“Superficial burns. Nothing to concern yourself over.”

I'd never seen him so angry before. He held it in, but it showed in the tension in his jaw, the flatness of his voice.

“That surprises you?” he asks. “That I'm angry? Just because you've knocked me to the ground with a fireball. Made me beg. Made me risk my life, over and over—running toward a train wreck, crawling over unsafe ice, going into a burning house.”

“Whoa. Wait. You did those things yourself,” I said, my own temper flaring.

“Why, Gwen?” He stood up, crossed the room, grabbed a pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and fumbled, trying to light a match.

“Want me to light that?” I asked.

“Don't do me any favors.” He threw the cigarettes across the room. They hit the wall and slid down. “I'm quitting, anyway.

“Tell me,” he continued, in a belligerent tone, “why did I risk my life last night?”

“You tell me,” I retorted.

He swore and swung around as if he was going to punch the wall behind him. At the last second, he stopped. I don't know if it was self-control or if he couldn't make a fist.

He laughed shakily. “I wish you could read my mind, Gwen, like I read yours. It hurts to make a fist.”

“Let me see,” I said, getting up and reaching toward him.

His reaction was so violent it startled me. “Don't touch me.”

“What is
wrong
with you?”

Another half-laugh. “You were right about me. I
am
addicted. But not just to The Power. To you.”

To me? You're just saying that. To get The Power. That's all you ever wanted.

He smacked his hand down on his desk, then swore violently. “When will you trust me? What do I have to do?”

“Stop lying,” I shouted back. “Stop manipulating me. Stop using me.”

He stood up, paced back and forth. “Look in a mirror, Gwen. You used me to get your newspaper stories. You let me do your dirty work. And you sat back, nice and safe, taking your pictures and writing up your stories. You didn't even try to help.”

“The universe is set in its course. You can't change what—”

“You don't try! You have all this power, these dreams, these visions—and you sit back and do nothing. Did you try to pin down the time and location of the last fire? Notify the police?” He's shouting now, waving his arms. “That would have ruined your story, wouldn't it? A fire, a death. It all makes such a
good
story.”

I couldn't believe he was saying this. It was so unfair. I felt the rage building, and—

Adrian

I'm not ready for it. The fireball she hurls at me. It catches me by surprise.